


Arriving Late

by Willie_The_Plaid_Jacket



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Job, Established Relationship, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Uni!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:59:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willie_The_Plaid_Jacket/pseuds/Willie_The_Plaid_Jacket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John just wants to get to class on time. Sherlock is confident he can maximise the time they have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arriving Late

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Merinda for giving it a quick read through.

“I’m going to be late for my lecture.”

It would have sounded like a far more convincing protestation if John hadn’t whined towards the end just as Sherlock latched his lips onto a spot above his left collarbone, right at the base of his throat.

“No, you’re not.”

Sherlock was far more convincing, much to John’s disadvantage. At least he’d made it as far as his bedroom door this time, even if he was pushed against it rather than walking through it. Hell, even Sherlock had made it as far as putting on a pair of pants.

“I..” Lips on his jaw. Hands sliding under his shirt. “I am. You’re going to make me late. Again.”

“No, I’m not.” Sherlock kissed John on the lips, meeting only a vague attempt at resistance. “Besides,“ he murmured, stroking John’s sides under his clothing, “they always start at five past the hour. We’ve got stacks of time.” Kiss. “Plenty of time.”

Before John could formulate the first syllable of what would have been a retort, Sherlock silenced him with the combined efficiency of his lips once again on John’s and his hand over the tenting of John’s jeans.

The instant John dropped his rucksack, Sherlock dropped to his knees.

The button and flies of the jeans were undone so quick John questioned whether he had actually done them up in the first place. Sherlock exposed enough flesh so as to be head to head with his prize whilst able to reach around to John’s arse and grab two handfuls. Beyond the squeezing of John’s bum, there was no preamble (they were on a schedule after all). Sherlock dove right in, as far in as he could go, which was far enough to make John bang his head back against the door and groan.

Sherlock worked with enthusiasm. He always had, since their very first time. In the moments leading up to their debut together, John had suspected Sherlock would be shy about the whole thing. He wasn’t. He was as he always was; focussed, efficient, experimental. Perhaps there was a slight hesitancy in the beginning, his inexperience giving way to minor doubt, but no shyness.

No, shy certainly wasn’t the word John would use (if he were capable of recalling any of the English language) as his glans hit the back of Sherlock’s throat and he felt the wriggling of the other boy’s tongue.

He moaned outright and placed his hands on the back of Sherlock’s neck, wanting desperately to come and so urging his partner on. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was a clock ticking. Somewhere to be. Sherlock’s throat seemed like a fantastic place to be.

A few more long sucks and John was there. He was there quite spectacularly. In fact he may have left his bones behind because he suddenly didn’t feel much up to standing.

Sherlock rose, wiping his mouth against the back of his forearm, and propped John up by his shoulders. He stood there, all arrogance and cockiness. John would have liked to punch him if he didn’t in fact want to bottle him up and carry him around always.

“Best get a move on,” Sherlock rumbled. “Don’t want to be late.”

A punch was looking more favourable.

John straightened up and attempted to seem unaffected by the remark. After a moment, he picked up his bag, then looked Sherlock over, noting the more than noticeable erection trapped beneath the navy blue boxer briefs.

He nodded in the direction of the offending organ and asked, “What about you?”

Sherlock’s mouth tilted up in a half grin before he turned and threw himself back onto the bed.

“Oh, I think I can wait an hour.” He looked at John. “Unlike some people.”

Punching. Yes. Splendid idea.

“Actually,” John shifted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, “it’s a two hour lecture.” The grin on Sherlock’s face faltered somewhat. “And I’ve a seminar after that.” As the grin disappeared completely, John placed his hand on the door handle. “Oh, and I thought I might meet up with the lads for lunch.”

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows, his mouth hanging open, ready to argue, but John cut in.

“I’ll see you later though. Do have fun.” And with that he left the room, leaving behind a very bewildered, very aroused Sherlock Holmes.

He was still going to be late for his lecture, but it was worth every second.


End file.
